


Hunger and Thirst

by ArchitectofSorrow



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but it's not horrid, i think something else was supposed to happen but don't remember what???, something I wrote a while ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 04:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16422830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchitectofSorrow/pseuds/ArchitectofSorrow
Summary: Short: Jessica has a conversation with a cute, gay bartender about life and luck. Set before Jessica Jones season one.





	Hunger and Thirst

 

 

Jessica Jones gulped down more whiskey. Last call had been two hours ago, but she had asked for eight shots. She was proud about how she had spaced them out.

 

'You really need to go home,' the bartender said, for the eighteenth time. He was tall, dark. He looked Italian, or Iranian, or something. She really couldn't tell. The bar was dim, and everything was blurring. 'I'm done cleaning, and I have to close up.'

 

'Can I go home with you?' She tilted her head back and smiled. It would be nice not to have to go back to her cold, empty bed.

 

'No, I've got a boyfriend.'

 

'Oh.' She lifted the tumbler up and back and caught the last drop of whiskey on her tongue. 'Do you have a dog?'

 

'What?'

 

'A dog? Do you have a dog?'

 

'No,' the bartender said. 'I have two cats, no dog.'

 

Jessica nodded and moved her tongue around her mouth, searching, but the alcohol was all gone. 'Are your cats friendly?'

 

'You can't come home with me,' the bartender said. 'I told you. I have a boyfriend. We have a studio, only one bed, no couch even. Is there someone you could call?'

 

Jessica breathed in, puffing up her cheeks, and then let it out again. 'Nope.'

 

'You must have someone,' the bartender said.

 

'I have a sister,' Jessica said.

 

'Call her.'

 

'No, because I don't talk to her anymore.'

 

'Why not?'

 

'Because she's good, and I'm trouble.'

 

'I see.' The bartender moved out from behind the counter. 'Well, do you live nearby?'

 

'I live in a dumpster,' Jessica said.

 

The bartender blinked. He licked his lip, ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair.

 

Jessica threw her hands in the air. 'I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'm fine. I live two blocks down. You don't have to worry about me.'

 

'Okay,' he said. 'Do you want me to walk you home?'

 

'Oh, you're a gentleman, wow.' Jessica shook her head. 'And you're not even doing it for sex. But I bet you're judging me.'

 

'I'm -'

 

'No, no, it's okay,' Jessica said. 'I know I'm being an asshole. It's kind of my thing. You're really sweet. I hope your boyfriend knows just how lucky he is.'

 

'We're both lucky.'

 

Jessica nodded. 'Of course you are. I'll bet you love him. I'll bet you're dying to get at him, and I'm here sitting in your way.'

 

'It's fine,' the bartender said.

 

'No, it's not fine,' Jessica said. 'Because shitty people ruin good people's lives all the time, and I should know better. I should just get my ass up and go. And you're probably wondering "why don't you then?" And well, it's because I know when I stand up, I'm gonna fall over, and then I will stagger back to my dump of an apartment and collapse across the kitchen floor, and I will lie there with the front door wide open until morning, and someone will walk by complaining about it. Like look, there's that drunk P.I. who never did anyone any good. Why doesn't she just drown herself in the bathtub?'

 

'Okay, I think you need help,' the bartender said, pulling his cell from his pocket. 'There's a hotline. The number is 1-800-273-8255. Here, I'll dial it for you.'

 

'No, no, no, no,' Jessica said. 'I didn't say I was going to kill myself. Other people want me to! Look, I've seen a shrink. I already know what's wrong with me. I have “depression” and “PTSD,” but it's fine because I've been through hell, so that's normal. All of this,' she waved her hand indistinctly, 'is normal for someone who's gone through what I've gone through. Is it the best way to cope? Hell no. But it's also not unprecedented, and I can't talk to anyone on the phone right now, because my head is ringing. Anyway, I really should just go to bed. Things won't look up in the morning, but I promise you I won't be dead either. So, if you give me a hand up, I'll be on my way.'

 

The bartender frowned. 'You don’t have to be alone like this.'

 

'Mmm,' Jessica said. 'Well, I can't really do relationships because of all the trust issues and the shitty self-esteem, so there's that.'

 

'Don't you have any friends?'

 

'Nope. I drove them all away with my dark sarcasm and general dickishness. But who needs friends anyway.'

 

'People do,' the bartender said. 'People need other people, and we're lucky that we do. That we can reach out and connect with one another.'

 

Jessica laughed. 'I'm guessing you're a Streisand fan.'

 

'Why? Because I'm gay?'

 

'No...I mean, well never mind. This is embarrassing.' Jessica pushed herself up using the bar. She swayed for a moment but got her bearings. 'I've got to go.'

 

'You can come by tomorrow and pet the cats if you'd like.'

 

For a moment, Jessica smiled but then she shook her head. 'You've got it going. I don't want to jinx that. See you sometime.'

 

She winked and walked out into the rain.


End file.
